Lunch Hour

When I stopped in at Starbucks on my lunch hour last week I had no idea what was going to happen.

I was dawdling-it was a slow day at the office. No one seemed to care when I announced I was taking off half an hour early to go work out. I went through my sets quickly so there was time for coffee when I finished-not lunch, as I was determined not to let my hard-won gains get covered up by belly fat.

My favorite Starbucks was cool and thankfully not too crowded. By now the baristas greeted me by name when I walked in and then asked, "Grande iced coffee?" I'd given up being annoyed by the forced familiarity.

My drink came up quickly. I took it to the bar by the front window of the store that looked out onto a small patio and the parking lot. I perched on one of the high stools and pulled out my smartphone. Between reading my e-mail, surfing Facebook (a guilty pleasure), and looking up things on the Web, I ended up happily killing time for quite a while.

Finally I took a break and looked around. Some guy in bicycling gear was fitting a plastic cap onto his drink at the cream and sugar stand nearby. He stepped out the door and the next moment was standing right in front of me-he had left his bike propped on the front wall of the store. I was perched at exactly the right height to get a good look at him, though the blinds across the window partly obscured his face.

Most men who wear skintight cycling outfits shouldn't. This guy was an exception. The stretchy fabric fit his lean, rangy body like a glove. His forearms were corded with muscle and vein. His biceps strained against the short sleeves of his jersey. His shorts were black and sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination. The folds of the fabric formed a snug pouch between his legs, revealing the outlines of an impressive package. His legs were just what a biker's ought to be, tanned and ripped. His face was partly hidden by reflector sunglasses, but I imagined keen, intelligent eyes to go with the even teeth and square, clean-shaven jaw.

He put his helmet down on one of the outdoor tables and stood sipping athis drink he had just purchased, giving me plenty of time to check him out. I figured I was safe since the window shades were hiding my face. In a few moments he would get on his bike and ride away, leaving me to face a long and boring afternoon. Better enjoy the view while it lasted, and it was quite a view. I felt myself getting hard and shifted on my barstool, trying to be inconspicuous about adjusting myself.

I was amazed when the biker outside did the same. I blinked, thinking I was seeing things. No, I wasn't. One sinewy hand was cupping the goods I'd been admiring, slowly squeezing and releasing.

I whipped my head up and found myself staring directly into his reflector shades. The blinds must not have been concealing me as much as I thought. A smile spread across his face as he continued to play with himself through his shorts.

He put down his plastic cup, now empty except for ice, and reached for his helmet. Quickly the biker snapped it on and mounted his bike. I sighed inwardly, figuring the show was over. It had been fun while it lasted.

I watched him glide into the parking lot and begin to ride away.

Except, he didn't ride away. He covered the parking lot in leisurely circles, dodging the occasional car, casting glances in my direction. After a few passes he stopped in front of me and put one foot down on the pavement, taking a hand off the handlebars and cupping the swelling mound between his legs once again.

Clearly I was being cruised. But what to do? In a flash I made up my mind.

Quickly I downed the rest of my coffee. I got up, pushed the door open and went out into the parking lot, straight toward the cyclist. He nodded and smiled.

"How are you doing?" His voice was deep and resonant.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"Come here in your car?" Getting straight to the point. I nodded again.

"Yeah."

He leaned toward me and spoke in a low voice. "I know a place nearby. Want to follow me? Got time?"

The words came out of my mouth without thought. "No time like the present."

He laughed softly. "Cool. I'll wait for you at that exit over there."

I ran to my car. Moments later I was heading toward him. He saw me and turned right out of the parking lot, waiting by the curb until he saw me exit. Then he headed down the thoroughfare on the bike path, surprisingly fast. Obviously he was in good shape. I was driving near the speed limit to keep up with him.

After a while he turned left off into a more residential neighborhood. The road became hillier and he slowed his pace a bit, though his muscular legs continued to pump steadily. I followed him at a safe distance, enjoying the sight of his athletic body at work.

Ahead of us on the right was a break in the parade of houses with large front yards. I saw him turn into the open space. When I got there I realized it was a small park, not much more than a clearing surrounded by woods, a bit of wilderness that had not been swallowed up by development. A gravel strip by the road served as a small parking lot. I pulled into it and looked up. I caught sight of the biker in the distance. He had dismounted and was walking his cycle toward the woods. He turned to make sure I was still with him, then disappeared into the foliage.

I got out of my car and walked toward the spot I'd last seen him. As I approached I saw that a small trail led into the trees. I plunged in, hurrying so as not to lose the biker. I needn't have worried. A short distance away I saw his machine propped up against a tree. He was nearby, leaning against the trunk of another, reflector shades still on his face, biceps bulging on crossed arms, smiling. His teeth flashed brilliant white, even in the semidarkness.

I went up to him, panting from exertion and excitement.

"You made it."

I nodded. My hand reached out tentatively and made contact with his Lycra-wrapped package. He nodded encouragement, his grin widening. I kneaded his junk for a while, then reached for the waistband of his bike shorts.

"Did I tell you I love these things?"

"I figured you might."

I let my hands slide underneath the slick fabric. There was nothing underneath but moist skin. I pushed the shorts down his thighs as I sank to my knees. His cock flopped out, cut, semi-hard, pink head flaring from the pale veined shaft. His balls were round and tight, almost hairless. In fact his crotch was bare except for a neatly trimmed patch above his cock. I absorbed the sight in a flash as I took his organ in my mouth, smelling and tasting clean sweat. It quickly grew to a steely rod, bumping the back of my throat as I blew him in long, eager strokes. I let my hand wander up and under his jersey, feeling the smooth ridges of his abs, finding and squeezing a hard nipple.

His strong hands gripped my head, caressing my hair. A faint moan issued from his throat and I increased the pace of my sucking to bring him off. Abruptly his grip tightened, forcing me to stop. I let his cock slip out of my mouth and looked up.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. You're great. I want to taste you too."

"You don't have to do that," I said, but he was already grabbing me under my arms and hauling me to my feet. Quick, confident fingers unzipped me and snaked inside, finding my cock and hauling it out. In a moment I felt myself enveloped by his warm, wet mouth. Waves of pleasure washed over me, and I turned my head up to the sky, my eyes closed and my mouth open in silent ecstasy.

Even in the middle of a great blowjob my mind wouldn't quite shut off. I looked down. "We'd better hurry," I whispered.

He looked up, releasing me, and grinned. "Damn right. Don't know about you, but the mosquitoes are eating me alive." Abruptly he stood and turned, gripping the trunk of the tree he was leaning against.

"Fuck me."

"Really?" I said, nervousness returning.

"Yeah. I want that hot cock up my ass. Do it, buddy." He pushed his shorts further down and the dimpled, pale globes of his butt cheeks came into full view. The sight caused my cock, which had softened a bit, to rise again to its full length.

"Lube in my saddle bag," he said, turning. "Hurry."

"Rubber too?"

He turned and shook his head, the grin flashing again. "I take all cummers. You're clean, right?"

"Yep." I went over to his bike and found the stuff, squeezing it out and quickly greasing myself up. As I got back in position behind him I unbuckled my belt and shoved my pants and underwear down. I took my slippery cock in hand and guided it between his cheeks. A bit of gentle pressure and I felt his ring give way. The smooth heat of his asshole surrounded the head and shaft of my cock as I slid into him.

He sighed with pleasure. "Yeah, give it to me, man. Every inch."

"You got it," I said to him.

I was scared out of my mind-and tremendously turned on. It would have to be fast. I began to thrust, starting with small strokes, gradually increasing the pace. In a few moments I was drilling his hole, almost slipping out of him before shoving my dick back in. I looked down, enjoying the sight of my shaft splitting him open, sliding in and out between his cheeks.

My efforts were delighting the biker, judging from his grunts and mutterings of "Yeah...fuck me man...uh-huh." His own right hand had moved from the tree trunk and was furiously jacking his own stiff rod, still wet with my spit.

All too soon I felt myself go over the edge. Cum rushed up and exploded out of my cock buried deep inside him as I rammed it in up to my balls. My eyes squeezed shut as I emitted strangled grunts through clenched teeth, trying not to make too much noise. These gave way to harsh gasps as I collapsed onto his back, stunned by the storm that had shaken my body and brain.

His body shook underneath me as the speed of his hand on his own organ increased to a blur. He moaned, and I felt his asshole pulsing around my cock as he emptied himself onto the tree trunk.

As I was still trying to catch my breath he straightened and turned toward me. My cock slipped out of him, just starting to soften, wet and swollen. In a flash he was on his knees again. I gasped as he swallowed me, cleaning me off with his mouth.

"Wow," I couldn't help saying.

"What?"

I shook my head. "Nasty."

He smirked. "Your fault, getting me so hot."

He got up and I thought we were done. Wrong. Before I knew what was happening his hand was behind my head pushing my face into his, his lips were pressed to mine and his tongue was in my mouth.

"Jesus," was all I could say when he released me.

He patted my face. "You're all right."

At that moment we heard a car go by on the road some distance away. That broke the spell. We quickly broke apart and dressed ourselves. I crammed my spent cock back into my pants with some difficulty. He stood, hands on his hips, looking at me as I made some final adjustments, still sweaty and disheveled. The swollen outline of his dick was prominent in his shorts, and though I had just cum I wished I could have another go at it.

"You okay?"

I nodded. "You?"

He smiled and nodded. "That was fun, buddy. Thanks."

"Thank you." I stuck out my hand. "I've got to get back to work. What's your name?"

I looked back after I'd walked out of the woods and was heading toward my car. Matt was just emerging from the path with his bike. He'd taken off his reflectors. Even at a distance I could see that his eyes were blue, set deep in his bronzed face. He gave a friendly wave, which I returned. He started running to catch up to me, so I waited.

"Got your phone?" he asked as he came up. It just happened that I did.

Matt took it from my hand and poked at the keypad. I heard an electronic chirping in his saddlebag.

"Now we've got each other's numbers. Have a good one." He handed it back, jumped onto his bike and rode off, giving me a last look at the Lycra-wrapped butt he'd given up to me.

I turned on the air conditioner full blast as I swung the car onto the road. Getting through the afternoon didn't seem so bad now.